


stepping into the light

by bs13



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, High School Band AU, and by that ofc i mean Lemonade Mouth au, no supernatural/magical elements au, sometimes a family is a bunch of band kids & their enthusiastic detention mentor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21540049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bs13/pseuds/bs13
Summary: Joining a detention band with the oddest, mismatched group of people in school is the last thing Josie ever expected to do this year, but this is apparently now her normal. Also new and entirely unexpected? The fact that Penelope Park—one of the most popular girls of their grade, and coincidentally the person Josie is in detention for—might very well be the #1 advocate for said band.
Relationships: Penelope Park/Josie Saltzman
Comments: 65
Kudos: 246





	1. music & memories & middle ground

**Author's Note:**

> so i've been working on this fic since s1 of legacies lol - i watched lemonade mouth w/my family & was like "you know what? this is the au ive been waiting to WRITE" and so i committed...and now here i am. & look i _know_. i know i have so many wips. just let me have this,, it may be the one (1) fic i finish writing in my lifetime. i originally wanted it to be a oneshot but i frankly do not have the patience to wait any longer lmao!
> 
> anyway what i wanted to explore in this fic was a setup where penelope and josie don't really know each other - or at least, josie doesn't know _penelope_. it's basically popular!penelope, shy!josie, and the moment their different worlds collide. really there's less emphasis on the band and more on their little found family :')
> 
> ( for once i edited this w/out messing with the html, so if the formatting's off, ignore it bc chances are i have no idea how to fix that )

Josie has never had  _ detention _ before.

It has always been a foreign concept to her, admittedly—she associates detention with troublemakers, as naïve and embarrassing as that sounds. Detention is for people Josie tends to  _ avoid _ , and the irony of being among the very same people is not lost on her. The shame lingers as she enters the music room, taking note that four other students are already seated.

She notices, with a sinking heart, that Penelope Park is one of them.

“Good morning, Josie,” Emma greets her kindly, which does nothing for the awful feeling curling in Josie’s gut. If there is one thing she hates, it’s letting her teachers down. Emma doesn’t _look_ mad, but her kindness is overwhelming nonetheless. “Have a seat anywhere.”

Josie unthinkingly takes the first empty chair she spots, which happens to be next to Hope Mikaelson. In the stifling silence of the classroom, the screech of her chair is likely the most excitement the room has experienced so far.

When the clock strikes eight a.m. Josie waits for Emma to explain how detention works. Then when the clock reads eight ten Josie realizes what’s happening; Emma must not be the usual teacher assigned to watch over detention. She is distracted, uncoordinated, and at last she sheepishly admits she did not plan any character-building activity for the occasion.

A hand shoots up in the air. MG, the office’s best student aide and school golden boy—Josie can’t imagine why he’s here—asks, “Isn’t detention supposed to be character-building in itself?”

Emma grasps onto the concept like a lifeline. “Right,” she agrees, snapping her fingers quickly. “You’re all here to build character because, by reflecting on your wrongdoings, you are showing strength.” Then, to further prove just how unequipped she is to handle detention, she decides to turn it into an impromptu therapy session. “Let’s all form a circle! We can talk amongst ourselves.”

Josie and MG are the only ones who hurry to push their desks into formation. The others seem put off by the idea (if the way they remain situated is any indication).

“Uh, sorry,” Landon Kirby says, raising his hand. “Is this required?”

“Yes,” Emma says decidedly, motioning for him to join in. “We’re all going to use each other as inspiration.”

Reluctantly, Landon shifts his desk beside MG’s. The only other two students in the room—Hope and Penelope—follow soon enough, but not until Penelope interjects,

“Not to cramp your style, Ms. Tig, but Dr. Saltzman usually just has us work on homework or something.”

“Well, today he’s left me to shape your young minds,” Emma says, about as enthusiastic as anyone awake this early can be. “So let’s all make an effort, shall we?”

The reminder that her dad usually observes detention makes Josie instantly guilty. She might have to ask if he avoided coming today so as to not see  _ her _ —to ask if he’s as disappointed as she, herself, is. Josie is just running through all the reasons why he could’ve picked not to come today when suddenly Penelope pushes her desk right beside hers, the sudden scraping sound enough to bring Josie out of her head.

Penelope meets Josie’s slightly bewildered stare with a brief nod. “Hey,” she says.

“Hi,” says Josie, caught, and she swiftly drops her gaze to her desk. She prays that any second Emma will start talking and save her from any unfortunate (and awkward) conversation that Penelope Park might expect.

The universe, however, is not in her corner. “I know we don’t know each other or anything, but I kind of feel obligated to ask,” Penelope goes on—and is that  _ amusement _ in her voice? “Do you always light people on fire, or am I just lucky?”

Josie allows herself to glance at Penelope. Forces herself to realize that Penelope’s hair is now much shorter than before. “I’m so sorry,” she says meekly, wishing that the floor would open up and swallow her whole in that instant. “It was an accident.”

“It’s fine.” Penelope shrugs. “Good thing I can rock a lob, huh?” This she punctuates with a ruffle of her short hair and a wink—a wink that leaves Josie’s cheeks a hint warmer than normal. “Is that bio mishap what you’re in for?”

“Yeah, it’s…frowned upon to set other students on fire, I guess.” Josie thinks this might be the weirdest moment of her life. Not only is she sitting in detention next to Penelope Park, but Penelope is carrying a conversation as if  _ nothing _ . As far as Josie knows, Penelope doesn’t know who she is. It’s not as if Penelope is  _ known _ for being the type to strike up conversation with people that aren’t her level of popular, and Josie waits for the other shoe to drop.

But Penelope only laughs, almost like she didn’t expect a response at all. “So besides being a pyromaniac, you’re cute  _ and _ funny. Noted,” she says.

_ What does that mean? _ Josie wants to ask, but she’s so dumbfounded by the causal way in which Penelope talks to her that she doesn’t respond right away. She doesn’t get a chance to either, because Emma claps her hands together and declares that they’re ready to begin.

“Would anyone like to start us off? Maybe begin by saying why you’re here and what the consequences of your actions have taught you.”

MG clears his throat. “I will,” he says. “Hi, my name is MG—”

“We know,” Penelope offers, unhelpfully, but MG ignores her and continues:

“—and I’m here because I let someone use the school phone to tweet. But to be fair, she was trying to tweet from her own account, so it’s not like I’m responsible for the fact that she accidentally used the school’s twitter instead—”

“MG,” Emma interrupts gently. “We’re not here to object to our actions. We’re here to  _ acknowledge _ them.”

“Okay. Yeah.” MG squirms uncomfortably in his seat. “So…I let someone use the school phone and she tweeted from the school account by accident.”

“And how did that make you feel?” Emma prompts. “Remember, this is a safe, inviting space. No one will judge you.”

“We might judge you a little,” Penelope interjects, clearly teasing, but it makes Emma frown.

“Penelope. If you wish to be rude, then you’re welcome to speak about your feelings next,” she says. “MG, please continue.”

Josie glances at Penelope out of the corner of her eye as MG obligingly goes on. If it had been Josie at the end of Emma’s disapproving stare, she would be  _ ashamed _ . But Penelope is…unbothered. In fact, she looks slightly  _ pleased _ to have pushed at Emma’s buttons. Josie doesn’t know if she will ever understand how people like Penelope Park think.

“Thank you for being so brave, MG,” Emma says, reminding Josie that she ought to be paying more attention. “Penelope? Would you like to share next?”

“Sure thing,” Penelope says smoothly. “I’m here because protesting is apparently frowned upon by our dear, fair principal. Kind of unfair, if you ask me.” She seems to seek Josie’s eyes as she speaks, and Josie’s stomach twists as Penelope adds, “Not that I’m going to object to the punishment or whatever, Ms. Tig. But I think part of sharing my feelings is being honest, right?”

“Yes, Penelope, that’s…very healthy to acknowledge.” Emma looks slightly regretful of her decision all at once. Much to the relief of everyone—Emma included—the class phone begins to ring. “Excuse me for a minute, everyone. Sit tight.”

As she steps out of the classroom to take the call outside, MG leans forward. “Wait, Peez,” he says. “Was it  _ you _ who vandalized all the copies of  _ The Scarlet Letter _ ? Dr. Saltzman was  _ pissed _ .”

“Vandalize is such an ugly way to say protest,” Penelope says, but she’s smirking just the slightest. “Personally, I think including that sexist, archaic material isn’t very forward-thinking of this institution. But then again, what do I know?”

Josie is speaking before she even realizes it’s happening. “Are you serious? It cost the school like two hundred dollars to replace those books,” she says, annoyed all at once at how  _ arrogant _ Penelope is turning out to be. “Your act of rebellion didn’t even do anything.”

Penelope’s smirk only grows. “But I bet it made your dad think,” she says.

“That’s your goal? To make people think?” Josie presses forward without thinking. “That doesn’t sound very productive.”

“Well, not all of us get their daddy to do whatever they want,” Penelope says. She rests her head against her palm, gazing at Josie so brazenly that Josie suddenly feels awkward—and indignant, mostly.

“What is  _ that _ supposed to mean?”

She never gets an answer. Just before Penelope opens her mouth to reply, a loud crash at the corner of the room has everyone turning their heads.

Landon pales at the attention. He meekly holds up the fallen cymbal that caused the commotion, then gingerly sets it aside. “Sorry,” he says. “I was trying to check out the instruments.” He picks up an acoustic guitar, holding it reverently as he asks, “Hey, maybe it’s a new kid thing, but does this place have music classes? I’ve never seen any.”

“Nope, we have no artistic extracurriculars,” Penelope answers. “Dr. Saltzman is averse to anything fun.”

“That’s not true,” Josie argues, not about to allow badmouthing at her dad’s expense. “We just don’t have the budget for it.”

“But we  _ do _ have the budget to replace bullshit books. How lucky,” Penelope says, opening her arms out towards the others in a mock-placating manner. “Don’t worry, guys. We may not have music or art classes, but we have  _ The Scarlett Letter _ .”

Josie bristles. “It’s not my dad’s fault. He doesn’t make all the choices.”

Penelope ignores her. “Hey, Gerard Way,” she says to Landon. “Do you play?”

“A little?” Landon says uncertainly. He squints at Penelope out of the corner of his eye, puzzled. “I don’t…think you’ve ever spoken to me before.”

“We’ve never been fellow prisoners in detention before,” Penelope points out. “So? Show us.”

Landon glances around at the others—Hope, MG, Josie. Hope is slumped in her chair, observing but never speaking. MG shrugs, like it doesn’t matter either. Josie casts an uneasy glance at the door, afraid Emma might come back and berate them for speaking when they shouldn’t.

Somehow, Landon must take the mixed reactions as a go-ahead. He starts strumming a melody that sounds familiar but Josie can’t quite place, a song that is pretty and soft and slow.

MG whistles in approval. “Okay, that’s pretty tight,” he says. He starts to beatbox along, occasionally rapping his knuckles against his desk.

Again Josie looks at the door. To her horror, the others seem to be gradually joining  _ in _ . Hope slides over to the dusty piano at the back of the room and plays a few notes; Penelope even picks up a bass against the wall. At first it’s a jumbled mess of mismatched keys and poorly timed beats, but slowly the makeshift jam session turns into an actual song. Josie pinpoints it as something older—the Beatles, probably. It has that kind of folksy, early rock n’ roll kind of feel to it. Josie is almost tempted to start singing, but since she doesn’t know the song, she stays quiet. Either way, no one seems to mind that she’s only listening.

When Emma comes back inside Josie nearly doesn’t notice. The sole reason  _ anyone _ notices is the door slamming heavily behind Emma as she enters; the music instantly dies out as Emma freezes in place.

Emma doesn’t seem mad—she seems perplexed, mostly, and in the newfound silence all she says is, “Well, that’s a team building exercise if I’ve ever seen one.”

MG, the one person as terrified of authority as Josie is, coughs nervously into his fist. “Uh, are we in trouble?”

“Of course not,” Emma assures him, though she seems a bit pensive. “Sometimes music can make us feel more than words can.” She brightens a second later, figurative lightbulb lighting overhead and all. “You sound terrific, all of you. Like a proper band!”

“We’d be a terrible band,” Hope speaks for the first time all day, about as curt as everyone knows Hope to be.

“Oh no, don’t use words like  _ terrible _ ,” Emma says. “Optimism is key for self-love.” She lowers her voice as if imparting a secret, next. “I have a suggestion. If you all formed a band and, say, entered the school talent show—I can see what I can do to absolving your future days in detention to band practice instead.”

Landon raises his hand again. “Um, is that required too?”

“I’m not suggesting this to pressure any of you,” Emma goes on without answering his question. “But Penelope, this could be the form of protest that will better suit you than vandalism! And it would be such a productive way for all of you to spend your time. Why not give it some thought?”

Penelope sets the bass back against the wall. “I’m not much of a joiner,” she says. Curiously, her eyes fall on Josie. “But I could be persuaded.” She does not elaborate, leaving Josie to wonder why Penelope is looking at  _ her _ and not the others.

“You don't have to make a choice now,” Emma says. “You can talk amongst yourselves and decide anytime soon.”

“Yeah, no,” Hope says. “We don’t have to do that. I’m not interested.”

“Shocker,” Penelope declares dryly. “Salvatore’s resident loner doesn’t want to spend time with people.”

Hope rolls her eyes. “I’m not in the mood for bitchy banter,” she says, practically bored at Penelope’s jab, which makes Josie curious as to what their relationship with each other is—not  _ friends _ , surely, but not enemies either. “I won’t have time for a band.”

" Ms. Tig just said we could practice during detention hours,” Penelope points out. “Or were you planning to do something else for the next two weeks that you’re here for?”

“You just said it yourself—you don’t want to join something,” Hope counters. “What do you care?”

At that, Penelope only smiles, slow and amused. “I like messing with you, Mikaelson,” she says. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Well, I’m in,” MG pipes up. When he’s met with four incredulous stares, he raises his hands in mock-innocence. “What? C’mon, it could be pretty cool.” He looks towards Josie pleadingly. “Jo, you got my back, right? You’d be awesome as our lead singer.”

“What?” Josie startles. “No way. I don’t sing.”

“That’s a lie. I know that’s a lie, because Lizzie says you’re fantastic,” MG says. “And we both know Lizzie doesn’t say that about just anybody.”

“She’s my twin, she has to say that.” Josie feels like she’s being scrutinized by everyone in the room, and she hates it. “You can just get Lizzie instead. She would love the chance.”

“Lizzie Saltzman was not a part of the deal,” Penelope objects, even if MG seems like he’s seriously considering it. Then she’s right back to staring at Josie—appraisingly, which Josie cannot handle. “Do you sing or not?”

“Not…in public,” Josie says, stumbling over her words without knowing why.

“Then it’s settled. You can sing, I play bass, Milton here will play drums.” Penelope turns to Hope and Landon. “You two aren’t going to leave us as half a band, are you?”

Hope frowns. “You’re serious? You really want to do this?”

Landon, for his part, squirms at Penelope’s piercing gaze. “Well…I’ll do it if Hope does it.”

Josie glances at Hope along with everyone else, despite her better judgement.  _ She can’t really be considering this. She can’t possibly… _

But Hope only shrugs. “Fine,” she says. “It beats having Dr. Saltzman on our asses.”

And as MG whoops cheerfully and Penelope Park smirks at getting her way, all Josie can do is think _ oh god, what am I getting myself into? _

.

.

.

Josie does not tell Lizzie about the band.

It’s weird to keep a secret from Lizzie, but if Lizzie knew about it she’d probably insult the very idea of it—maybe even argue to their dad that it is ridiculous and unfair. The thing is Josie doesn’t really  _ want  _ Lizzie to fight on her behalf, and honestly, this band seems much nicer than the two weeks’ detention in its place.

(Plus, she kind of likes having something that is hers and hers alone.)

On Saturdays she gets to carpool with MG and enjoy his company; they’ve always been friends, but now that they have this band they’re even closer. They always arrive first and get to take over the music room while they wait for everyone else, and it’s...surprisingly fun. As a band they may not have found their footing yet, but with each other? Well, they’re kind of a  _ group  _ now. Like friends.

What is so funny about that is that labels don’t seem to stick in each other’s company. Penelope isn’t popular; Hope isn’t a loner; Landon isn’t—for lack of a better term—a loser; Josie and MG aren’t teacher’s pets (Penelope’s classification,  _ not _ theirs). Penelope and Hope can snark at each other as if nothing. Landon and MG can write music together. Josie can hang out with Hope and actually have a nice time. In some odd way they fit together like they’ve always been meant to be friends, like they’ve never  _ not  _ been friends.

Emma still supervises their band meetings, but she is content to leave them to their own devices so long as she hears music playing. It begins to feel less like a chore and more fun to actually play together, even if they’re not that great.

Musically, they’re all a bit…different. “We’re not a rock band,” Hope is saying now, casting her critical glare on Landon. “Why would we be a rock band?”

“Uh, I don’t—I don’t know,” Landon says weakly. “I thought that was our sound.”

“We don’t even  _ have  _ a sound,” Penelope snorts. “Our sound is MG making a racket.”

“Hey, I never formally learned how to play the drums! I’m trying my best.”

“Forgive me for assuming you  _ would _ , since I thought you had rhythm.” 

“Guys, don’t fight,” Josie pleads. “Do we even need a sound?” When everyone turns to look at her, clearly dubious, she presses on: “We can play all kinds of different genres.”

Penelope quirks an eyebrow. “Let me guess—you want pop music or something.”

Josie frowns. “Don’t make assumptions about me, Penelope,” she says. And, “There’s nothing wrong with pop music anyway!”

“See, Saltzman, you’re just that predictable,” Penelope says. “Well if Jojo wants pop music and Landon wants rock, where’s our middle ground?”

_ Jojo is a stupid nickname _ , Josie inwardly grumbles. Out loud she snaps, “We can play  _ anything _ . Like I said.”

“Sure, why not,” Hope sighs. “If it will make you two shut up.”

“You started it,” Penelope points out, to which Hope rolls her eyes.

“I’m just saying I’m opposed to becoming a Led Zeppelin cover band.”

MG perks up. “Can we become a Beyoncé cover band?” (His request is met with four immediate no’s.)

So the music is a work in progress. Landon stumbles a bit with an electric guitar, far more used to his acoustic. Hope had been the one to pay for their instruments—had shrugged and said, “My parents are rich,” when faced with agape faces. Any attempts to pay her back have been in vain since then.

They’re still working on figuring out what exactly to  _ play _ for the talent show. So far, their music tastes are so different that they can’t reach a consensus on one song.

Emma comes back with pizza to provide a much-needed break. She also suggests that they each provide a potential song to play, so everyone can vote for one by the end of the week; it’s the level-headed approach they so desperately needed.

Hope practices aimlessly on her keyboard as everyone else eats, and Josie joins her with an extra slice on her plate.

“How did you learn piano?” she asks, silently sliding over said plate.

“My dad had a grand piano he used to play when I was a kid,” Hope says, offers a quick, grateful smile. “I begged him to teach me.”

“That’s amazing.” Josie watches her play a little longer, suddenly wistful. “I wish I could play an instrument. I mean, I can, but I don’t think the ukulele would be a good fit for the band.”

“You never know—I’m sure Landon would find  _ some  _ way to make it work.” Hope nods over to where Landon and Penelope are laughing about something, the two such an unlikely pair that it’s oddly nice to witness. “Besides, you don’t need to play an instrument. You’re basically going to be the face of our band since you’re the singer.”

“Am I?” Josie’s stomach turns a little. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

Hope lifts a shoulder noncommittally. “That’s showbiz, supposedly,” she says. Quieter she adds, “Thanks,” and picks up the pizza slice Josie brought over.

Josie spends far too long pondering what that would  _ mean _ , being the face of the band. It’s not like this is a real band though. This is just a one-time detention stint, with one performance in one talent show.

_ Right _ ?

.

.

.

For as much as Josie and the others in the band have grown to be unlikely friends, Lizzie has yet to catch on.

Lizzie simply isn’t observant when it comes to what goes on with Josie. Josie’s used to that by now; she doesn’t divulge much of what goes on in detention either, so Lizzie isn’t entirely to blame.

So one morning, as Landon calls out, “Hey Josie, wait up,” the first thing Lizzie does is send Josie a skeptical glance out of the corner of her eye.

“Do you know that guy?” Lizzie asks. 

Josie, who is already waving him over, remembers to stop and reply. “Yeah, that’s Landon,” she says.

“ _ Who _ ?”

When Landon reaches them he is slightly out of breath. “Hey,” he says. “I had a crazy thought. You can say no, obviously, but what if—what if we write our own song?”

“For the show?” Josie suddenly wishes Lizzie wasn’t here. “Aren’t you and MG working on some stuff?”

“I mean, yeah, but I was thinking we could try to write something. You and me,” Landon says. “I know we’re each supposed to provide our own song, but Penelope told me you’re a great writer—”

“ _ Penelope _ told you that?” Josie interrupts. “How would she know that?”

“Uh, I don’t…know.” Landon sheepishly tugs at the collar of his shirt. “Would you be open to trying it out?”

Josie is still stuck on the idea that Penelope suggested this. Could she be planning something? Why would she care that Josie is a good writer—not that she  _ is _ —at all?

Lizzie takes Josie’s silence as an opportunity to scoff. “Back up, thrift store hobbit,” she says. “My sister is  _ not _ interested.”

“ _ Lizzie _ !” Josie elbows her swiftly. “Don’t call Landon that.”

“What? You seriously know him?”

“Yes, he’s my friend.” Josie turns back to Landon and says, “I—I guess we can try? I’m probably not as good as Penelope said, but…”

“I’m sure you are,” Landon says, looking relieved (and slightly wary of Lizzie). “See you at practice then?”

“Yeah, see you later.” Josie waves as he leaves, which causes Lizzie to question,

“What are you two even  _ talking _ about? What are you writing with that juvenile delinquent in the making?”

Josie hesitates. “Landon and I…we’re working on something for the talent show,” she says. “I kind of joined a band?”

Lizzie furrows her brow. “ _ You _ joined a band.”

“Yes.”

“Since when do you want to be in a  _ band _ ? Detention has rotted your brain,” Lizzie decides. “Oh my God, is that where you met  _ him _ ? No wonder you’ve been so different lately.”

“How have I been different?” Josie asks, defensive. She’s been  _ happier _ , but she doesn’t say so aloud.

“You’re always busy,” Lizzie says. “It’s like you don’t have time for your friends anymore.”

“Those are  _ your _ friends. I’ve been spending plenty of time with my own,” Josie says. The bell rings, and she shifts her backpack higher on her shoulder. “I don’t want to fight about this.”

Lizzie—seemingly perplexed by the very idea—counters, “We’re not fighting.”

“Well, you don’t seem thrilled with me,” Josie points out. “Don’t wait for me after class, okay? I have to find Penelope.”

“Penelope—like, Penelope  _ Park _ ?”

Josie doesn’t answer; she’s already three steps away.

.

.

.

“Why did you tell Landon I’m a good writer?”

Penelope raises an eyebrow. “Hi, Josie, it’s nice to see you too,” she says. When Josie only huffs and continues to stare—standing stiffly with her arms crossed—Penelope pats the spot on the bleachers beside her. “Want to sit?”

Reluctantly, Josie does. “Are you averse to the cafeteria?”

“No, but I like being out here. It’s quieter.” Penelope has her bass guitar in her lap and she is currently playing a low, deep tune, one that she starts up again once Josie sits down.

Josie is briefly mesmerized by the sight. She’s seen Penelope play during their jam sessions, but when it’s her alone she is more creative; the song she plays is complex, layered, quick some moments and slow others.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Josie remembers to prod.

“What, am I not allowed to tell Landon you’re a good writer? You are,” Penelope says. The melody trips up a few times and Penelope ducks her head to watch the strings, steady and methodical in her movements.

“But you don’t even know that,” Josie argues.

Penelope stops playing altogether. “I do,” she says, lifting her gaze to meet Josie’s head-on. “You wrote that song you sang at Kaleb’s end of year party last year, didn’t you? The one you played on your ukulele.”

Josie opens her mouth to negate the fact, but contritely shuts it. “You were there?”

“I went to smoke weed and steal booze,” Penelope says, “but yeah, I was there.” There is a curious half-smile on her lips as she speaks, one Josie doesn’t understand. “Don’t be so surprised I can pay you a compliment, Jojo.”

“It’s not that.” Josie’s leg accidentally brushes against Penelope’s and she nearly starts at the contact. “I…didn’t think you knew me back then, that’s all.”

“You’re the principal’s  _ daughter _ , how could I not know you? You were number one on my list to avoid in case I’d get in trouble. Well, maybe not number one. Your sister’s far worse.”

Josie rolls her eyes. “What do you have against Lizzie?”

“Nothing, actually,” Penelope says, shrugging. “But she  _ is _ pretty bossy. I don’t know how you put up with it.”

“That’s her method of tough love.”

“You know, you spend a lot of time rationalizing your family’s actions.” Penelope places her fist under her chin, leaning in far closer than Josie expected. In fact, she is so close that when their eyes meet Josie is surprised to note that Penelope’s are green—a lovely kind of green, soft but sharp.

Josie has to look away. “Yeah, well, you spend too much time criticizing my family’s actions.”

“Oh come on. I’m being honest,” Penelope says. She starts toying with her bass again, this time producing a distinguishable melody. “It’s not like I have some vendetta against your family.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope.” Penelope’s hands move quick, as though muscle memory guides her. “Tell  _ me _ something now. What’s the first impression you ever had of me?”

“Of you?” Josie is bewildered when the memory strikes her all at once, intense enough that she nearly blushes. She first remembers meeting Penelope freshman year—remembers being intimidated by her leather jacket and the see-through white blouse she was wearing, but overcome with the urge to know this girl nonetheless.

They had caught each other’s eyes outside the principal’s office, Penelope there for dress code and Josie waiting for her dad to take his lunch. Penelope had waved at her, but Josie had quickly looked away.

Since then she has only run into Penelope a few times. They were always around each other, but never had to  _ interact _ unless it was in class. Sometimes Josie saw her in the halls, usually surrounded by adoring girls, and other times Josie would hear about Penelope being caught smoking weed under the bleachers. Up until now Josie never realized how much Penelope’s presence has been locked in the recesses of her brain—sitting here with her now, she’s caught up in a flood of memories.

“You still with me?” Penelope’s amused voice snaps Josie back to reality. Josie feels the urge to flush return, which is already intensified by the fact that Penelope’s undivided attention is centered on  _ her _ .

“Yeah, sorry, just trying to remember,” Josie lies. “I’m not really sure what my first impression of you was. I know I met you outside my dad’s office…” she recounts haltingly. “I guess I thought you were a troublemaker.”

Penelope laughs; her bass, which has never wavered, misses a few notes of Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” as a result.

“A  _ troublemaker _ ?” she echoes. “You’re such a stereotype.”

“You asked!” Josie defends herself, and it only makes Penelope laugh harder.

“Okay, I get it, you think I’m the next coming of the antichrist,” Penelope says. “Pretty predictable, I have to say.”

“I didn’t say  _ that _ ,” Josie argues. “I mean—you’re not that bad. Insufferable, yes, but you’re my friend. Unfortunately.”

“Wow, Josie, you sure know how to make a girl feel special.” But Penelope is grinning, and she sets her guitar aside with a sense of finality as she says, “Does this mean we’re going to have sleepovers and braid each other’s hair?”

“Shut up,” Josie huffs, knocking her knee against Penelope’s. “You may hate me, but I’m still going to be nice.”

“I don’t hate you. Is that what you think?” Penelope is rarely serious, but her smile fades and suddenly Josie is struck by how pretty Penelope is even when somber.

“I can’t exactly get a read on you,” Josie admits. “You tease me a lot.”

“It’s my thing, I make fun of everyone.” Penelope suddenly moves closer and Josie sucks in a breath—she has no idea when the prospect of kissing Penelope Park became a remote possibility, nor when the prospect excited her so much.

She is mildly disappointed when all Penelope does is brush an eyelash off her cheek. Then Penelope is scooting away, gathering her guitar and her things, as if Josie is not struggling to exhale without sounding like she’s been holding her breath too long.

“I kind of lied,” Penelope says, casual as can be, as she hops off the bleachers. “I didn’t notice you at Kaleb’s party because you’re  _ Josie Saltzman _ , daughter of the guy in charge. I noticed you because you have a beautiful voice.”

“You did?” Josie isn’t sure why her voice comes out so soft, so vulnerable. She doesn’t like being vulnerable.

“Of course,” says Penelope, like it’s obvious. “It helped that you are attractive as hell, obviously—”

Despite herself, Josie flushes. “What?”

Penelope winks. “I did say I like being honest,” she calls, walking backwards and sending Josie an honest-to-God finger gun salute. “See you Saturday.”

“Okay…bye,” Josie says, halfway between surprised and confused.

It’s official—she still has  _ no _ idea what to make of Penelope Park.

.

.

.


	2. moments & mathletes & metaphorical votes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh wow, it has been a while! i'm so sorry about that. this chapter has been finished for so long, and it's just been sitting, waiting to be polished. that said, do forgive the pacing - like i mentioned before, this was meant to be a oneshot, so it's a little less put-together than a multichapter ought to be
> 
> with that in mind,, thank you all so, so much for your reception to this fic last chapter! wow. i have just been blown away. i know the show's leaving us all in posie withdrawal lmao, & i've definitely felt that - it's been hard to get back to writing posie bc of it. but i love & appreciate you all & i am making an effort to come back 💕💕💕

“Josie! Over here!”

MG is barely audible over the bustle of the other patrons in the pizzeria, but luckily, Josie spots him before she hears him; it’s so crowded she has to squeeze past quite a few people, but she manages to make it. Josie doesn’t usually come to places like these—not because she doesn’t want to, but she’s never really done anything _without_ Lizzie before. Lizzie would rather spend after-school days at some party, not settle for something as simple as dinner with friends.

At the table there’s already pizza waiting, untouched; Josie is warmed by the thought that her friends have waited for her.

“Josie, Josie, _please_ tell my man Landon here that his music is wack,” MG says jovially. “He’s trying to—no, no, get this—he’s trying to get me to learn how to play some really emo music.”

“I thought you and Landon were practically _married_ ,” Penelope mock-coos, kissing the air for good measure. MG throws a balled up napkin at her forehead, which does not dissuade her from batting her eyelashes suggestively at him.

“It’s _Seven Nation Army_. It’s not even emo, it’s a classic,” Landon’s protest falls on deaf ears, because Hope elbows him sideways so everyone can scoot over and make room.

It means Josie is sitting next to Penelope, and the proximity makes her nervous.

“Josie, you’re vegetarian right? We got cheese pizza,” MG says. “Well, Hope _bought_ the pizza, but I remembered because I love you the most.”

“We _all_ know Josie’s a vegetarian, Milton,” Penelope interjects. “Shut up and pass us the plates.”

Josie can’t help but smile a little when Penelope catches her eye. It’s…certainly different, knowing Penelope doesn’t hate her. Different in a good way.

(Different in a way that has her hyperaware of how close Penelope’s hand is to hers.)

“So why did you call this emergency band meeting anyway, Hope?” Landon asks. “Not that I mind the, uh, free food. Thanks for that?”

Hope shrugs. “We only ever see each other in detention,” she says. “I was thinking we should change that.”

“Aw, so we can become a happy family?” MG beams, and Hope immediately kicks him in the shin. “Ow!”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” Hope says. “Don’t make it weird.”

“ _You’re_ weird,” MG replies, rubbing at his leg with a dramatic grimace.

“You’re _all_ a bunch of weirdos,” Penelope says decidedly. “We can toast to that, I think.”

They indeed have a clumsy toast, knocking their coke bottles together and dissolving into giggles. Hope asks Landon something about The Eagles and he delves into an excited answer—MG groans, and takes that moment to stand and declares that he’s going to bring some breadsticks. 

And Josie observes Penelope as this unfolds, takes in the nonchalant way she takes a swig from her bottle, takes in the shape of her jaw and the movement of her throat as she swallows.

“Do your friends mind?” Josie blurts out, the question finally escaping from her head; it’s been bouncing around there just about forever. “You know, that you’re friends with us.”

“What?” Penelope turns to face her, a smile lingering on her lips.

“You know.” Josie grips her bottle tightly, feels the condensation wet and cold against her palm. “Since you’re kind of insanely popular and all that.”

Penelope chuckles. “I’m not popular,” she says. “If I had to put a label on it, I’d prefer the term ‘rebel.’ Definitely more badass.”

“Oh, come on. People follow you like you’re the next best thing since sliced bread. That’s being popular,” Josie retorts. “Everyone loves you.”

“And what, they’d stop loving me if they knew I was on your good side?” Penelope raises her bottle to her mouth, head tilted questioningly.

Josie licks her lips and pretends not to watch. “Who says you’re on my good side?”

Another laugh. Another swallow. Josie is mesmerized and she doesn’t even notice. “Damn, Josie, you’re a tough girl to keep up with,” Penelope jokes. “One minute we’re friends and now you’re acting like we’re not.”

“Well, you do have a tendency to sidestep my questions,” Josie notes. “So?”

“So…”

“Do your friends mind?” Josie will not allow herself to waver, even though Penelope is stupidly hot. 

Penelope’s smile slowly fades. “They don’t know,” she says. “They know about the band, but they don’t know I hang with you guys.”

“Are you ashamed of us?” Josie drops her gaze to her coke, focuses on peeling away its label.

“No.” Penelope sinks back against the back of their booth as though she is weary. Maybe she is. “They just wouldn’t understand.” She leans in a bit to whisper, “This is the part where you tell me that’s predictable behavior on my part.”

“Lucky for you, I’m not an asshole like that,” Josie whispers back. “I get it, actually.”

“Oh yeah? Are the mathletes scandalized about your friendship with me?”

“I’m not even a mathlete, you _jerk_.” Josie suspects she’s smiling too much for her feigned anger to work. She doesn’t mind, though.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Penelope is grinning back at her when Josie shyly meets her eyes, and it’s enough to make Josie’s stomach somersault. “So how’s your song pick going?”

“I don’t have one yet,” Josie says. “Landon and I still might write something.”

Penelope looks surprised. “We’re supposed to share songs in two days.”

“I know. It’s—something I have to explore with Landon, but you’ll see,” Josie says.

“Ah, the mystery route.” Penelope tips her coke bottle in Josie’s direction before taking a drink. “I like it.”

“And how’s your song choice coming?”

“That,” Penelope says, “is a surprise.” She offers an encouraging wink and turns back to the others, leaving Josie to hide an exasperated smile behind her hand.

The longer she stares at Penelope, Josie has to reach a begrudging truth: she’s definitely beginning to _like_ her. And it is, possibly, the opposite of a problem.

In fact, all things considered…developing a tiny crush on Penelope wouldn’t be the _worst_ thing in the world, would it?

.

.

.

On Friday night Landon shows up to the Saltzman household.

Alaric is clearly befuddled by Landon’s presence. He questioningly calls, “Josie, there’s someone at the door for you,” as if he didn’t give Josie explicit permission hours earlier to have a friend over.

“You can say Landon’s name, Dad, I know you know who he is,” Josie shouts, hopping off the stairs as she makes her way into the living room. “Come in, Landon. We can work in my room.”

“Cool.” Landon awkwardly sidesteps Alaric, who barely gives him room to do so. “Uh, your house is nice Dr. Saltzman.”

“Thanks—Landon,” Alaric says slowly. “Josie, can I speak to you for a minute?”

“Dad, we’ve got _so_ much homework to do.”

“It won’t take long.” Alaric nods towards the kitchen, and Josie groans and follows him. When they’re safely out of earshot her father inquires, “Since when are you friends with Landon Kirby?”

“Since detention,” Josie answers. “What does it matter?”

“Do you really want to be around a boy like that? He’s a good kid, I know, but he’s making a lot of poor choices this semester. If you want me to talk to him—”

“No _way_ ,” Josie cuts him off. “Landon is my friend. And he’s a great guy, so…don’t worry about anything.”

“Okay. Well.” Alaric doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue further. “Keep the, ah, door to your room open.”

“What? Oh my God, Landon is _not_ that kind of friend—”

A sudden scream from the living room tells Josie that Lizzie has walked downstairs. Faintly they hear her yell, “Dad, why the fuck is Marilyn Manson in our _house_?”

Alaric sighs. “Just keep the door open, Josie,” he says wearily, and then he steps out to handle the situation.

To his credit, Landon handles the poor reception like a pro. He doesn’t mention Lizzie or her dad as Josie leads him into her room, only compliments her on her posters and takes a seat on her bed when prompted.

“Do you really think we can write a song in one night?” Landon asks. “Because we _do_ have to present it tomorrow.”

“About that…” Josie haltingly reaches for her prized notebook, the one full of poetry and half-written song lyrics she has never shared with anyone. “I was thinking we could finish a song I’ve already started? Unless you want to start fresh, which would be fine either way.”

“Are you kidding? Let’s finish your song. That would work out better,” Landon says. “Can I read it?”

“You won’t make fun of it?”

“I’d never,” Landon promises, and Josie believes him. She may not be as close to Landon as she is to the others, but they get along well; they’re both quiet, both reserved in their own way, and apparently both like writing music.

Josie waits a few minutes before she says, in the silence of the room, “I’m sorry, by the way. About Lizzie.”

“It’s okay,” Landon says. He runs a hand through his hair, sheepish, and adds, “I guess I’m not like your usual friends.”

“Lizzie will warm up to you,” Josie says. They both know it’s a lie, but Landon pretends to believe her and that’s all that matters. “So what do you think of the song?”

“Right!” Landon props open the notebook again. “I think it’s fantastic.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s really good,” Landon says. “I like this line—the one about chasing an adventure. It’s poetic.” He’s brought his guitar along, and he reaches for it now. “Did you have a melody in mind? It reads like it’s meant to be kind of slow, but not melancholy.”

“That’s exactly it!” Josie says. “Do you think we can work with this?”

“Definitely.” Landon grins, then props his guitar up in his lap. “MG said he’s rooting for our song to win.”

“Isn’t MG supposed to root for his own song?” Josie laughs. “I think he’s messing with you.”

“Who cares? I’m holding him to it,” Landon says. “Do you want to sing the first verse? I’ll play along.”

They spend the rest of their night like this: trading off on different points, laughing and trading suggestions on how to write the remainder of the song. It’s the most fun Josie has had in ages.

.

.

.

They don’t have a band name.

They have pizza nights, friendly banter, music that is beginning to sound coherent, but no band name. In fact, they don’t even remember to _think_ about a band name until Emma asks what it is.

For a while they sit, silent and stumped. Somehow the idea of using a name makes this all very _real_.

“We should name it after me,” MG announces first, “because no one ever names their bands after the drummer.”

“What, are you suggesting we become _Milton and His Mathletes_?” Penelope snorts. “No way. We have to think cool.”

“I’m not a Mathlete! Geez, you help out a friend _once_ in a speed round timing session—”

“Let’s not _bicker_ ,” Hope interjects civilly. “We need ideas.”

“Something cool, right?” Penelope says. She’s got half a stick of licorice hanging out of her mouth, and she nudges Hope’s leg with her boot. “You won’t let us fall into nerd obscurity, will you Mikaelson?”

Josie rolls her eyes. “What kind of name would you call ‘cool’?” she demands. “Something with the words rock n’ roll and anti-authority sentiment?”

Penelope grins. “I bet your dad would love that,” she says, waving a second piece of licorice in the air before sticking it into an unsuspecting Landon’s mouth. “We _could_ call ourselves ‘Fuck Josie’s dad in particular,’ but it’s a bit wordy.”

“Seriously, my dad is _not_ the enemy here—”

“Profanity, Penelope!” MG shouts, scandalized, and Penelope pelts him with candy next.

Landon pipes up around the unchewed licorice still in his mouth. “Maybe we can narrow it down,” he suggests. “Do we want our name to be silly? Inspirational?”

“We want it to be _cool_ , Kirby,” Penelope stresses once more. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

“You hang out with us now,” Josie reminds her. “Isn’t that kind of a moot point?”

Penelope bats her eyes in Josie’s direction. “Aw, Jojo,” she says. “Are you jealous I still have other friends?” She’s sitting across from Josie in their makeshift circle, and she slides over the licorice box as if making a peace offering.

“Shut _up_ ,” Josie groans. “I’m just saying it’s dumb to think anyone will think you’re cool after we do this. Playing the talent show is already social suicide, right? That’s why no one does it.”

“No one does it because your dad creates a hostile environment for the arts,” Penelope counters. “Plus, one year a kid puked all over the judges’ table on purpose, so no teachers are keen on signing up for the gig.”

“Ew,” Hope says. “What about puking on stage?”

“Oh, there’s been _countless_ times that has happened. Kaleb keeps a log—it’s so gross it’s kind of cool.”

“Can we stop talking about puke?” Josie interrupts. “We’re getting off track.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” MG agrees. “And if we’re going to become MG and the Musketeers, we need to stay on point.”

There is silence all around. Then,

“We’re not picking that.”

“I’m with Hope,” Landon says. “Sorry, MG.”

MG pouts. “Jo?” he says hopefully. “Peez?”

Penelope shakes her head. “I’d rather sign up for three weeks detention voluntarily,” she says. “With Mr. Saltzman as the overseer.”

Josie bites her lip. “Um, I’m not going to be as rude as Penelope,” she says, “but I kind of have to agree on a no.”

Hope pats MG’s shoulder sympathetically. “Well, I have an idea,” she says. “But feel free to tell me if it’s terrible.”

“We don’t need permission, we’d tell you anyway,” Penelope says, and Hope shoots her an unimpressed glare.

“Go on, Hope,” Josie encourages, sending Penelope her own disapproving look for good measure.

“Well…” Hope trails off. “What if Landon has a point, about the whole ‘inspirational’ thing? We can pick a name that’s indicative of _us_ , not the people the social chain of high school has pigeonholed us to be. Like picking our own kind of legacy to leave behind.”

Landon scratches his chin, puzzled. “We’re just kids, though,” he says. “Who says we’re leaving any kind of legacy?”

“That’s the point—that we _should_ ,” Hope says. “You know. Write our own legacies.”

“This is beginning to sound less and less like a high school band,” Josie says slowly. “That’s all we are, right? Just a high school band?”

No one answers her question. Penelope has a pensive expression on her face when she says, “Legacies, huh? I like it.”

MG nods. “It’s pretty cool,” he says. “It’s no MG and the Musketeers, but it’s cool.”

The room is silent for a moment. Josie sees it, the exact moment where this stint in detention suddenly becomes _more_. She is a witness down to the minute—no, the very second they realize how far they’re willing to take their newfound friendship.

She surprises herself by speaking up. “What the hell,” Josie says. “Let’s do it. Let’s be Legacies.”

Penelope is the first person to catch her eye; when Josie allows herself to stare, Penelope is smiling in that soft, fond way that Josie is beginning to realize is a glimpse into actual _vulnerability_.

She never would’ve guessed Penelope Park could be capable of such a thing.

.

.

.

When the day comes to vote on each other’s songs, the unanimous consensus is picking Josie and Landon’s song.

MG’s pick—a random Beyoncé song—was apparently never intended to win. Hope’s pick of an Elvis Presley song also ensured the same outcome. And Penelope, Penelope who’d winked and said her song choice was a surprise, showed up to Josie’s house with no song at all.

“This is insane,” Landon says, but he looks touched, disbelievingly shaking his head at the three of them. “You guys really want to go with our song?” He glances at Josie as if to marvel at the very idea, and Josie is inclined to agree.

“We trust you won’t let us down,” Hope says decidedly.

“You guys…” Josie can’t think of what to say. “Is this really happening?”

And as everyone shares glances at each other over empty pizza boxes, as they ignore the sprinklers dampening their jeans, something new begins. The excitement hangs in the air, unspoken, and they don’t talk about what it means right away.

“I think this calls for a celebration,” Penelope says. “Hey Josie, can we steal some whiskey from your dad?”

“I’m in too good of a mood to fight with you, Penelope,” Josie huffs, pointedly taking a sip of the lemonade her dad had brought out.

Penelope laughs, the kind of laughter where she throws her head back, unbridled and free. “Then I guess we have to celebrate old-school movie style,” she declares. Before anyone can ask what she means, she’s taking off into the grass—running into the sprinklers without a care in the world, throwing her arms out like she’s putting on a show.

Hope puts her chin in her hands and watches her go. “What movie is she thinking of?” she wonders aloud. 

“High School Musical 2,” MG says, the way someone might say _it’s obvious, duh_. Landon nods like MG has imparted sage advice.

Without warning, Hope stands up. “Why not,” she says decidedly, and then she, too, follows Penelope’s example.

Josie’s mouth falls open in silent protest. “Um, I don’t think this is exactly the celebration we were imagining,” she tries, casting a worried glance backwards at her house. Her dad, she’s sure, is probably posted at one of the windows watching all of this unfold.

Her protests fall on deaf ears. MG is already whooping in excitement, dragging a reluctant Landon behind him. They fall into a rather undignified heap in the grass, nearly taking out Hope with them.

Penelope returns to where Josie is still sitting while the others wrestle and shout. “You coming?” she says, holding out her wet hand. Her hair is damp, sticking to her cheeks, and her clothes a shade darker than before. But she is unbothered; if anything, she seems far too pleased with herself.

“Uh…” Again, Josie glances at the house. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

“Josie.” Penelope takes a step closer, hand still outstretched. “Just this once?”

It takes a second, but Josie finally lets herself be pulled to her feet. Penelope doesn’t drop her hand as they rush back into the sprinklers, doesn’t even drop it when Josie shrieks at the assault of chilly water and inadvertently pushes Penelope in front of her to take the brunt of it.

“It’s _cold_ ,” Josie yelps, almost falling right into Penelope’s back as the shock overwhelms her.

“That’s the point!” Penelope says, grasping at Josie’s wrists to spin her around. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Saltzman?”

“It’s nonexistent, actually,” Josie says, drawing her hands to her chest in order to cross her arms. But she is smiling; she _must_ be smiling, because Penelope grins in response. 

Then Penelope takes a step closer. Her face is inches away—Josie can see each individual drop of water on her eyelashes. “Maybe it’s time we helped you find it,” she suggests.

And in that moment Josie is struck. Penelope is so much _more_ than Josie could have ever expected. So much more than she _did_ expect.

It’s a surprise. But, admittedly, a rather nice one.

.

.

.

Everyone is nervous.

It seems like a silly thing to admit aloud. They’ve never so much as performed in front of an audience (unless Ms. Tig counts, which they unanimously agree she doesn’t). Of _course_ they’d be nervous; it’s only natural, given the fact that they’re about to play in front of everyone sitting in the talent show stands.

Penelope plays it cool, acts unfazed, but her leg keeps shaking—and her shoe continuously taps Josie’s. Each time Penelope jerks it away without apologizing out loud.

MG doesn’t bother hiding his nerves; he keeps pacing, and eventually he’s the one who voices what they’re all thinking: “What if we’re terrible?”

“Then we’ll be terrible,” Hope replies. But as dry as her voice is, Josie can tell she’s gripping onto her arm rests far tighter than necessary.

“Yeah, but what happens after that?” MG presses. “This was a bad idea. Oh my God. I’m going—I’m going to pass out.”

“Dude, no,” Landon says. “I’m not sure I have the upper body strength to carry you to the nurse's office.”

“You definitely don’t,” Penelope agrees. “Don’t worry, Hope and I will take care of it.”

“No one’s passing out!” Josie interrupts. “That’s what you mean, _right_ Penelope?”

Penelope purses her lips, considering, then shrugs. “Whatever you say,” she says. Her leg does not quit shaking even then.

“Look, I know we’re all freaking out,” Josie says. “ _I_ certainly am. But we’ve practiced this song so many times! We can do this.” She reaches to her right for Hope’s hand, and feels Hope squeeze back. “There’s no going back now.”

“We really could be minutes away from social suicide,” Hope says wryly. “Are you all ready for that?” She pointedly looks in Penelope’s direction.

“Why are you looking at me?” Penelope says. “I’m fine.”

“Well, this might put a damper on your tough girl image,” Hope points out. “You might actually have to end up sitting with _us_ at lunch. The horror.”

“On second thought…spending the rest of my high school life looking at _Landon_ every day? I have to quit the band.”

Josie surprises everyone by bursting into giggles. Penelope smiles over at her, a half-smile that’s pleased and soft, and soon everyone else is laughing along.

“I’ll try not to take offense to that,” Landon says sarcastically, and Penelope redirects her attention to him with a much more teasing smile.

A knock against the wall directs their attention to where Emma is waiting in the doorway. “You’re on in two minutes, Legacies,” she says, beaming. “How are you feeling?”

Landon throws her a thumbs-up. It would help, though, if he didn’t look like he was seconds away from puking.

“We’re freaking out,” Hope informs her, tone rather deadpan. “But we’re ready.”

“We _are_?” MG says.

“Yes, we are,” Josie cuts in. “No matter what, we have each other, right?” Her head turns to Penelope before she even realizes it.

Penelope straightens up somewhat. “Yeah, whatever,” she says. “Are we supposed to be having some kind of emotional moment right now? Is one of us going to cry? I’m putting my money on Landon.”

“ _Penelope_ ,” Josie says, and finally, Penelope’s resolve seems to weaken.

“Fine, if we’re being mushy,” Penelope sighs. “I believe in all of you nerds. Even you, Kirby.”

MG finally slows his pacing altogether, directing a beaming smile at everyone else. “Aw, are we going to have a group hug?”

Hope rolls her eyes; she also flicks a guitar pick in his direction, but it bounces harmlessly off his shoulder. “ _No_. Why would we do that?” she says. “We’re either about to walk out for the worst embarrassment of our lives or the tamest embarrassment of our lives. I’m not _hugging_ you guys on top of that.”

“Stirring pep talk, Mikaelson,” Penelope says. “I know we’re all touched.”

Hope merely shrugs at her, extremely undisturbed. “Don’t cry on me now, Park,” she says dryly. “We _do_ still need you.” 

“One minute till curtain,” Emma chimes in. “I think that calls for places, everyone.”

As the nerves begin to kick in, Josie finds herself looking for something—it doesn’t quite hit her what she needs until her eyes fall on Penelope. It’s Penelope who she looks to, who gives her the smallest reassuring nod when she needs it. Josie grips onto the microphone stand all too tightly and Penelope is the one who brushes by her elbow; the one who takes her position right by Josie’s side, bass at the ready.

“You can do this, Josie,” Penelope whispers too quiet for anyone else to hear, Josie’s name fading in the air like a promise.

And Josie believes her.

Hope begins soft on the piano, and Josie swallows tightly and starts with, “ _Standing in the shadows…_ ”

At first her voice wavers, though just noticeably. Penelope’s steady gaze grounds her, though; Josie can’t tear her eyes away from her for the first half of the song. When she sings _I’m finding my place on the stage_ , Penelope is there, nodding along, even mouthing the words—by the first chorus of _I’m stepping into the light_ hits, Josie is confident enough to look out into the crowd.

Penelope does not move away from her spot the whole time, and Josie—Josie has never felt more grateful for her until then.

.

.

.

When they win the talent show, it does not feel as surreal as Josie expected.

She’s sure she looks odd, standing stoic on stage while MG and Landon cheer beside her. She’s sure she looks odd when she does not return Hope’s jubilant (and rare) hug. All of it is just so _surprising_ , and it does not really sink in until Penelope jostles beside her and shouts something like _don’t look too upset there, Saltzman_.

The most shocking part of it, though, is _Lizzie_ —Lizzie, who has been in the audience the whole time, actually there to support her. Lizzie, who had actually _cheered_ for Josie when their band won.

Josie hugs her first when she stumbles off the stage, and she is finally, _finally_ , able to smile. She has never felt Lizzie hug her as _tightly_ as she does now.

“You were _amazing_ , Josie,” Lizzie says. She has an odd expression on her face, an almost bittersweet kind of cheerfulness. “Dad is going to be so proud when he finds out.”

“He’s not here?” Josie’s heart sinks a little. Her dad wasn’t sitting in the judges’ table this year, but Josie still hoped he had come. She doesn’t know what it means, the fact that she’s not surprised by this information.

Lizzie shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Maybe he got tired of the puke fest,” she says. “Or maybe he just didn’t know _you’d_ be here. I’m sure if he knew you were part of a band he would have come.”

“Yeah, probably,” Josie agrees mindlessly. Privately, she’s not sure she really _believes_ that.

“We should celebrate,” Lizzie suggests next, more chipper than usual; clearly, it is a means to distract her. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know…” Josie glances out in the crowd. She realizes that she is unconsciously searching for her _friend_ , all of whom have been taken aside by their own family members in the crazy aftermath of the announcement of their win. MG is laughingly bumping fists with Kaleb; Landon is hugging his brother, Rafael; Hope is actually smiling (for once) at her aunts—and then there’s Penelope.

Penelope is leaning against the wall, eyes glued to her phone as everyone shouts and cheers and laughs around her. It doesn’t seem like _anyone_ is paying her any attention, and even stranger, Penelope does not seem to care.

“Josie?” Lizzie waves a hand in front of her face. “You can invite the nerd squad, you know. If you want.” It’s clear she is begrudging about that part, but Josie is touched nonetheless at the attempt.

“Sure,” Josie says, “let’s celebrate. Just…give me a minute? I’ll be right back.” She moves towards Penelope before she even pauses to _think_ about it. As if sensing that she’s being watched, Penelope finally looks up; when she sees Josie, her mouth curves into the smallest grin.

Once Josie is in earshot Penelope calls, “Hey Jojo,” and slides her phone into her back pocket. She jerks her chin in the direction of the crowds of people celebrating around her and says, “Pretty wild turn of events, huh?”

“Definitely,” Josie replies, shyly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and trying not to notice how Penelope looks so _different_ after the performance, hair tousled like she’s just run her hands through it. “I was pretty sure the kid juggling potatoes was a shoe-in for the winner.”

“Oh yeah, he totally had _my_ vote. My metaphorical vote anyway,” Penelope says. “Well—unless it had only been _you_ on stage. Then you’d win every time.”

Josie is pretty sure her lips part quite noticeably at that, but she doesn’t know what to _say_ right away. Penelope seems uncharacteristically nervous, because her eyes are darting across Josie’s face as she takes her in like—like she’s waiting for Josie to say something. Like she is _expecting_ Josie to say something. Something that Josie can’t even put into words right now.

So instead she laughs, or tries to. “Hey, this was a _team_ effort,” Josie reprimands weakly. “And I think we all were all pretty great.”

“I don’t know…” Penelope says. “You, definitely, and Hope is kind of scary good for no reason. But MG’s only improved _somewhat_ , and don’t even get me _started_ on Landon—”

“Would it kill you not to make a joke?” Josie chides, but she is smiling when she says it; she feels it form, too wide and too telling. “You have to admit we’re pretty good together.” When she realizes how that _sounds_ , an immediate blush burns up the back of her neck. “All of us together, that is.”

One corner of Penelope’s mouth twitches, as if in amusement. “Yeah,” she says, “I guess you’re right. We _are_ pretty decent together.” Then she glances past Josie, any possibility of a smile dropping cleanly off her face. “I think your sister’s looking for you.”

“Oh.” Josie fights the urge to frown at the reminder that Lizzie is still waiting for her. “About that…Lizzie wants to celebrate. With us.”

“With us?” Penelope echoes.

“All of us—the band,” Josie corrects herself. “She’s kind of coming around, I think. To the whole…”

“Codependency withdrawal?” Penelope guesses.

Josie rolls her eyes. “To the fact that I actually associate with _you_ ,” she says, meant to be biting, but Penelope’s eyes light up and Josie knows she’s not kidding anyone.

“I guess we can let her hang out with us,” Penelope says. “But we’re definitely not letting her into the band.”

“Trust me, she’d die before she would join a _band_. Much less a band with Landon.”

Penelope clicks her tongue. “Damn, maybe I have more in common with her than I thought.”

“Oh, shut up,” Josie says, not like it does any good; any semblance of a stern demeanor on her face is long gone. She notes that Penelope casts an uneasy glance sideways, like she’s looking for someone. It’s what causes Josie to ask, quietly, “So…are your parents here?”

“Nah, my parents get a front row seat to my playing every night. They’re sick of me,” Penelope replies easily. “Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering,” Josie says. “My Dad isn’t here either.”

She waits for Penelope to scoff and say something about how her dad just hates the arts that much. At this point, Josie might welcome the criticism against her father—might even _agree_ a tiny bit. But Penelope only offers a wry half-smile and says,

“Screw ‘em all. I think we have to go celebrate the fact that we’re the least cool people in existence.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Josie completely forgets about her dad, and Lizzie, and everything else—right now she’s thinking that her life has a new, _crazy_ sort of normal.

“You told me this talent show is social suicide,” Penelope reminds her. “So does winning mean we’re officially lame as hell?”

Josie shrugs her shoulders and plays along. “Probably,” she says. “At the very least, this makes you one of us lowly unpopular kids.”

“Damn,” Penelope feigns disappointment, “and here I thought people dig a girl with a guitar.”

“That is… _so_ vain.”

“Hey, I’m just saying I might be somebody’s type,” Penelope says. With a roguish wink she adds, “Don’t pretend you’re blind to my appeal, Saltzman.”

“Okay, now that really _is_ vain,” Josie teases, because she knows Penelope is joking. The satisfied way Penelope smirks in response really shouldn’t make Josie’s heartbeat quicken but it _does_ , and it’s annoying.

“C’mon,” Penelope says decidedly, “let’s find everyone else. We can settle the debate if I’m everybody’s type or not.”

“I don’t think anyone will think you’re their type,” Josie says, but she matches Penelope’s stride as they head down the hallway. “Hope and Landon will probably say no. MG might says yes, and I don’t know if you’re your _own_ type…”

“Give me some credit, Jojo, I’m not _conceited_ ,” Penelope chuckles. “Besides, my type isn’t really girls with guitars. Girls with _ukuleles_ , though—that’s another story.” This she pairs with another wink, and dammit, if Josie thought she could feel flustered _before_ she’s never realized just how red she can get.

It’s official: Penelope Park will be the death of her.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! and if you want, come find me over on [tumblr](https://pippytmi.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/annalisevillas) ❤️


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